The Siren
by Sarcastic Innocence
Summary: "And while Sirens were always depicted as only female, Daigo had to confess that the man floating lazily in the water of his private indoor pool was, to him, everything like a Siren." Mature content.


**The Siren**

_"And while Sirens were always depicted as only female, Daigo had to confess that the man floating lazily in the water of his private indoor pool was, to him, everything like a Siren."_

_Mangaverse. Originshipping. Spoilers for Ruby/Sapphire arc. Oneshot. Non explicit sex.  
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_Holycrap. First M fic, ever. I like the names Daigo and Mikuri more than Steven and Wallace._

_Pokemon and Pokemon Special © Game Freak._

/

Water, to Daigo, was, for the most part, just a necessity of life. It was needed to stay alive; nothing more, nothing less. Actually, to be frank, Daigo had as much interest in water as Mikuri did in rocks, unless they happened to be shiny, of course.

And as one who had little to no interest in water, he could not exactly call himself much of a sailor; but Daigo supposed he was fairly knowledgeable about Sirens – mythical beings who seduced sailors towards them, causing their vessels onto to high rocks and shipwreck. Some stories, Daigo noted, had mention of the Sirens then eating the bodies of the sailors, though from general description, that trait of theirs was deemed to be baseless conjecture; descriptions of Sirens had said that the sailors had been left to rot. But that sounded just terrible. Daigo would really rather that the Sirens had more of a purpose to their luring than just "to watch them die", as he put it.

And while Sirens were always depicted as only female, Daigo had to confess that the man floating lazily on his back in the water of his private indoor pool– naked, he might add- was, to him, everything like a Siren. Aquamarine hair spread like a bloom around him, drifting like a fine mesh over crystal. Long fingered hands glided gently back and forth, seemingly trapped beneath a solid surface, moving its owner slowly but surely through the water. Daigo could not help himself but stare at that form – those naturally effeminate looks; porcelain white skin; pure, clean (Mikuri had a lack of body hair accompanied by an explanation that it was done was so he could move more freely under water) body; enamouring his soul, entrancing his heart.

And as for the untrue part of the stories, Daigo declared that Mikuri could, and did, do that too – just hot breaths and warm kisses _down __there_ could throw Daigo over the edge into ecstasy. Mikuri would then take it all, looking up at Daigo as he licked his lips, swiping a thumb lightly over his coy smile.

_That_ always came first before Daigo was able to have his way – pounding his way into his Siren until the man in his arms could no longer access his mind and could only breathlessly gasp his name. _Daigo.__ More.__ Faster._

At the same time, as Daigo knew from the events of _that__ day_, Mikuri could be more of a man than the stone collector could ever be when he wanted to, despite the effeminate giggles and proclaims of all things beautiful and fabulous.

They physically seemed to match their interests and complement each other fairly well – Daigo, sturdy and well built, defined muscles (that Mikuri kept finding his hands attracted to) from his spelunking and mining hobbies; Mikuri, willowy and slim, his lean frame toned by his love of the water. Daigo still, at times, could not believe that blue-haired man was able to lift up his body and carry him like a bride; like a doll. Well actually, he supposed, that statement should be more like this: Daigo really did not want to be carried around like that, ever, alive_or_ dead. He would much rather it be the other way around.

But _that __event _had shown both Daigo and Mikuri that their relationship could be, or rather, should be more than just at a best friend level. Daigo's only regret then was not being able to comfort his friend as he frantically shook his body, begging the heavens that they were just playing a cruel joke on him; to give him a chance to say so many things that had been left unsaid; in his white void of a world he had found himself in, Daigo had both seen and heard it all. He wanted to desperately to break free from the expanse of nothingness, to wrap his arms around the water leader and tell him that everything would be all right; everything has been done; everything has been said. But he would have been fairly content dying forever right then and there, knowing how the other had really felt about him. He didn't. And he was glad for that – otherwise he would never have the chance to have these moments; these feelings.

Mikuri slowly rolled onto his front; a swift yet elegant kick (without splashing, Daigo noted; never splashing) in the water propelled him to the pool's edge. A left foot tapped onto the bottom first, then the right, the body slowly straightening until he was standing upright in the water. Daigo walked slowly towards the edge, absentmindedly removing and placing his rings and cuffs (to keep them from tarnishing, or worse; rusting) on the side table in the process. Two pale arms stretched up towards him, reached out and gently grasped those calloused, rough hands.

A gentle tug was all it took for Daigo to fall into the water, suit and all, hands still entwined with those of the Siren. Lips locked tightly as he was pulled under the surface in a flurry of featherlike bubbles. One of Mikuri's hands had freed during the pull, reaching up to entangle itself in the now wet gray-silver hair.

Daigo had never read up on how to catch a Siren – all the stories he had read and learned about were all of the sailors being trapped, not the other way around. But, he supposed, this was okay.

After all, he had been caught by his Siren once again.


End file.
